


Episode 1: Where The Devil Don't Go

by Galaxy_Collector, robinwritesallthethings



Series: Words To Live By (Season One) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Beacon Hills Lacrosse Team, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Language, Pre-Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Snarky Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Being an Idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24934963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galaxy_Collector/pseuds/Galaxy_Collector, https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinwritesallthethings/pseuds/robinwritesallthethings
Summary: In the series premiere, Scott McCall and his best friend, Stiles Stilinski, find themselves in the woods searching for a killer, against their better judgement and the advice of literally every parental figure in their lives, resulting in interesting consequences for one of the boys.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore
Series: Words To Live By (Season One) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804672
Comments: 19
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ATTENTION: This is a ground floor rewrite of the entire series. While we absolutely adore the actors and the characters they helped shape and mold, the series left a lot to be desired in terms of satisfying character arcs and developments. Due to this, we have decided to rewrite/reimagine the entire series from episode one forward. 
> 
> Everything you know about Teen Wolf that was shown on screen may appear in the subsequent seasons/books in the same manner, but a lot has changed. Also, please understand that while Sterek is end game in every sense of the word, this is a very intricately plotted series rewrite by two professional screenwriters. It is slow burn and it is angsty and there will be romance and smut and all the goods, but it is not going to happen overnight. We want each arc to be fully developed and we want the lore to be without plot holes. 
> 
> We sincerely hope you like it and while we do not blame Jeff Davis or any of the show writers, we just think the studio probably gave them a framework that was never going to work. Therefore, we thought we'd help them out a bit. 
> 
> xoxo,  
> GalaxyCollector

Stiles had known before Scott had even come over that this was all they had planned on doing that night. Even if they definitely needed to be doing homework. Scott more than him. Sure, it was true that school hadn’t technically started yet, but they had a senior reading list they had ignored that they could be catching up on. And there was the whole thing about starting a new set of classes neither of them was prepared for, but here they were. Doing none of that. 

And it had been the same all summer. They practiced lacrosse all day, Scott going way harder than he should, and then they’d come back to his empty house and collapse and play with the old police scanner that he had promised his dad he’d thrown away until one or both of them fell asleep. 

Surprisingly, Stiles wouldn’t have it any other way. It was boring, but that was Beacon Hills. In the grand scheme of things, his life wasn’t all that bad. 

“You really think I can’t make first line?” Scott asked quietly. 

Stiles couldn’t help but roll his eyes. They’d already talked about this. Ad nauseum. He was over it. And the answers never changed. No matter what, it would be over tomorrow after tryouts. But Stiles couldn’t help himself as he snarkily replied. 

He snorted. “You can’t make  _ third _ line, dude.” He paused, letting that sink in before he continued. “I get that you wanna play lacrosse, but you’re, like, cursed or some shit. Double-cursed, if you will.”

Scott pushed himself up on his elbows without sitting all the way up. “Double? Why double?”

“Asthma, for starters,” Stiles answered quickly, holding up a finger. “You’re never gonna be a great athlete with asthma, Scott. And that’s just the luck of the draw.” He held up another finger, not bothering to turn around and face Scott. “Also, you suck. Like, pathetically suck. Worse than  _ I _ suck. And I didn’t even think that was possible.”

Scott laid himself back on the bed again, putting his hands behind his head, and scoffed for good measure. “I don’t suck,” he mumbled. 

Stiles just shrugged, but otherwise stayed silent as he continued to flip through the channels on the scanner. He was laying on his stomach and it was starting to get uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to move either. He was sore in places he didn’t even realize muscles could exist, so he wasn’t really amped up to do anything other than exactly what he was doing already. 

“I just want everything to be different this year, ya know?” Scott continued, seemingly undeterred by Stiles’ lack of interest. “I wanna get good grades, make a better spot on the team, and find a girlfriend. It’s senior year, Stiles. Don’t you think we deserve that?”

“Sounds like a fluffy teenage dream you got yourself there, dude,” Stiles argued. 

One more turn of the dial and suddenly his heart was beating wildly in his chest as he heard voices for the first time. He had taken this thing apart more times than he cared to admit, just for something to do, but it had paid off. Finally. 

“Yes! I got something,” he said, moving himself into a cross-legged position quickly. “I knew I could get this piece of shit to work eventually.”

Scott laughed behind him, but Stiles didn’t let it dampen his mood. “Why do you even bother with that thing? I know your dad is sheriff, but, like, all he does is arrest drunk kids and homeless people for trespassing and stuff like that. There hasn’t been any crime in Beacon Hills since…”

“The Hale Fire?” Stiles interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “Yes, I  _ am _ aware of that.”

“They never proved that was arson. Doesn’t count as a crime,” Scott countered. 

“We  _ all _ know, dude,” Stiles complained, turning around to Scott for the first time. “And just because they never had any suspects. There’s a huge difference there.”

A call coming through crisply broke up their argument as they both turned to the radio. Stiles couldn’t believe his luck, even if it was just going to be a drunk teens call. It’s nice to have something work out for once. 

“Sheriff, I have a possible 1-8-7 out here. Just on the edge of the Hale property. South side,” the voice explained, causing Stiles’ eyes to go wide. 

Scott sat up straighter and looked at him, confused, but Stiles just held up a finger before his friend could ask questions. He didn’t want to miss a word. 

“Okay, set up a perimeter and I’ll bring the calvary,” his dad returned. “What makes you think it’s a 1-8-7, deputy?”

The radio dissolved into static once more and Stiles grimaced as he grabbed the scanner and shoved it under his bed roughly. He didn’t have time to get it back online now, and it didn’t really matter anyway. They had all the information they needed to get out there. 

“Piece of shit,” Stiles muttered as he stood up, looking around for his shoes. 

“What’s a 1-8-7?” Scott asked, watching Stiles as he rushed around his room grabbing things. “And where are you going?”

Stiles stopped so suddenly he could tell he was going to give Scott whiplash, but he didn’t care. He blew out a harsh breath and then put his hands on his hips. 

“That’s code for murder, Scott.”


	2. Chapter 2

Scott was already regretting his decision to follow Stiles anywhere right about the time that they pulled up to the Beacon Hills Sanctuary. He knew his mom would kill him, for one, if whoever was out murdering people right now didn’t do it first. 

And since they’d showed up, neither of them was really talking. In fact, if he didn’t know better he would assume Stiles was mad at him. But he did know Stiles. They had been best friends since before kindergarten. He wasn’t mad. Just focused. And a focused Stiles was so rare it made him seem angry. 

But Scott couldn’t keep himself from inserting his opinion on the matter either. He needed it noted that he was against their little plan. Or rather he was against Stiles’ plan to go traipsing through the woods next to the burned out house where a whole family died not too long ago.

“You know our parents are gonna kill us if they find out we’re doing this, right?” Scott hissed. “Assuming we don’t get axe-murdered first, dude.”

“That’s why we’re not gonna let them find out. Duh,” Stiles said bluntly. “Where’s your sense of adventure? The body is cut in half, or ripped in half, or whatever. And they are missing the other fucking half. Dude, that’s, like, wild.”

“Yep. Heard the whole thing,” Scott said, remembering the conversation they had eavesdropped on when they showed up. “That’s why this is a terrible idea.  _ They _ think it’s an animal attack. At least if it was a murderer, they could understand us. But an animal? An animal isn’t going to stop if we try to reason with it, Stiles. We’ll be dead before we know what hit us.”

Stiles stopped walking, just like he’d done in the room, and rounded on him. His eyes were fiery in a way Scott hadn’t seen in a while. 

Okay, maybe  _ now _ he was mad. 

“Dude, what is your deal tonight?” he whispered harshly. 

Scott sighed quietly and then stalked back to where Stiles was standing so he wouldn’t have to scream across the space. “It’s the first day of a new school year tomorrow, Stiles. I would like to live long enough to see it.” He ran his hands through his hair. A nervous tick. He didn’t like confrontation. “I just told you all my big plans and you dragged me into the woods to either get murdered or eaten alive. Those don’t sound like good options.”

To his surprise, Stiles just shrugged like neither bothered him all that bad. The boredom of growing up in the tiny town had clearly gotten to him. 

“We used to do stuff like this all the time,” he explained. “Why’d you come if you didn’t want to?”

Scott sighed again, louder this time. “I couldn’t let you come out here alone. What if something happened to you?”

He hung his head as soon as the words left his mouth. They weren’t closed off, necessarily, but they didn’t make a habit of talking about their emotions all that often either. And knowing that it was a real possibility that Stiles didn’t understand how much he cared for him hurt too. 

“Aww,” Stiles cooed. “You love me?”

Scott looked back up and rolled his eyes, glad to see Stiles’ trademark smirk was back. He knew Stiles wasn’t really making fun of him, so he laughed lightly in response. 

“Shut up, dude,” he murmured, playfully pushing Stiles’ shoulder. 

Stiles returned the gesture, making them both laugh louder. “You do, man. You love me. You, like,  _ really _ love me.” He paused and then his eyes got wide as he looked Scott up and down. “Oh my God, do you… wanna kiss me? Is that it? Is this our moment?” 

Scott stared at him with the best version of a deadpan expression he could muster, despite the fact that he wanted to laugh at Stiles’ mockery. 

“Wait,” Stiles continued, “you said girlfriend earlier, but that’s not right, is it? You wanna confess your undying love for  _ me _ .” Stiles touched his chest lightly over his heart and batted his eyelashes. “I am so touched.”

Scott pursed his lips, trying to pretend to be mad as Stiles reached out like he did before, meaning to punch him lightly in the shoulder. But once he made contact, Scott could tell everything had gone horribly wrong and Stiles had miscalculated. Just like he had with where he was currently standing.

He hadn’t noticed, until that very moment, that he was on the edge of a ravine, and as he tipped backward, his hands flinging out in front of him out of instinct, trying to grab onto something, the smiling and laughter quickly faded for both of them.

Next thing Scott could grasp was that he was falling. And he seemed to just keep falling. No matter what he reached out for, it broke apart in his hand. The dirt and debris of the forest was saturating every piece of his clothing and getting in his eyes and mouth as he toppled down the hill. He coughed to try and dislodge some of it and catch his breath, but it didn’t work. Nothing was working. 

This was it.

Then he did stop. Hard. The impact knocked the rest of the breath out of his lungs, and for a second he lay on the damp earth struggling to stay conscious. The dizzy feeling he was used to, but not in this context. Not without his inhaler. 

Scott started to numbly feel around in his jacket for his one saving grace, but he knew it wasn’t there. Not after a fall like that. It was lost. And he was screwed. 

“Scott!” Stiles called from somewhere at the top. “Oh my God, Scott! Are you okay?”

_ No, idiot! _

“I’m coming down, Scott. Stay there,” Stiles said, not waiting for an answer. 

Which was good. Because there was no way in hell Scott could give one. He did manage to roll to his side after another second, but he could feel the way all the tendons in his arm protested the movement and he knew tomorrow was going to suck. 

No way he was making first line now. 

When Scott stood up, cringing slightly as he took stock of all his injuries, he could hear Stiles making his way down as promised. It was a slow process, but knowing he was on his way made Scott feel better in a way he couldn’t explain. 

A loud howl broke through the forest so suddenly it seemed to pierce his body, though, and he clapped his hands down over his ears. 

“Dude, are you down here?” Stiles asked, closer than before. “Did you  _ hear _ that?”

“Yeah. Sounded like a wolf,” Scott responded, removing his hands slowly. 

“Highly unlikely,” Stiles stammered. “There haven’t been any wolves in California since, like, 1920 or something.” He paused as he kept walking, twigs breaking in his path to signal his descent. “I mean, there are a few, but when I say a few, I really mean a few. Like, less than ten since people started slowly reintroducing them.”

Scott shook his head. Leave it to Stiles to give him useless facts to try and distract him from certain death. 

“You’re a walking encyclopedia, Stiles,” he commented. “Better than Google.”

And even though he knew what Stiles was doing, it didn’t mean it wasn’t working. He wasn’t dizzy anymore, for one, and by continuing to talk it helped him find his way back to his friend. 

“We all have our skills,” Stiles offered. “Knowing a lot of useless crap is mine.” 

Suddenly, a light shined in Scott’s face. He was unable to stop the way his heart fluttered at the idea that someone else had found them, but when the light moved, it revealed Stiles’ face behind it. 

“Are you okay?” 

Scott looked down at his now very dirty jeans and then back to Stiles as he held out his hand. “I think so. I’m lucky I didn’t hit one of those trees.”

“Tell me about it,” Stiles conceded. 

“Can you, uh, shine your phone down here? I can’t find my inhaler,” Scott commented when Stiles pulled him up slightly. 

“Sure.” 

Stiles hopped down into the bottom of the ravine, letting Scott stay where he was as he started looking around in the pit of dead leaves. He turned in circles a few times, going over each patch meticulously, but never found the thing. Scott could feel his stomach clench uncomfortably at the idea that he had actually lost it. 

“It’s gonna be kinda hard to find in the dark,” Stiles said quietly, more to himself than Scott. “Maybe we should…”

Another howl interrupted his train of thought, though Scott knew where he was going with it. But it was the gunshot that followed that made them both look up again. 

“Do you think that’s the animal and your dad just found it?” Scott asked. 

“If he did, I hope he won,” Stiles commented. 

They both fell silent again and Scott couldn’t help the shiver that ran up his back at the idea that Stiles could lose both his parents. After his mom, they had assumed that was more than enough trauma for one person to endure, but his dad didn’t have the safest job, and they were out here playing with metaphorical fire for the fun of it. 

“You know what?” Stiles asked, reading Scott’s mind. “We can come back tomorrow. I think you were right. We need to get home.”

Another set of gunshots rang out, completing Stiles’ argument for him as he struggled to get back up the cliff face where Scott was standing. 

“I know someone’s out there,” a deputy called, making them both freeze. “I saw your light.”

Stiles hung his head, admitting defeat. He looked back to Scott after a few seconds and then pointed over his shoulder. 

“I need you to stay where you are until I find you,” the deputy called again. 

“Go,” Stiles whispered. “I’ll lead them the other way. I was the one who dragged you out here. If anyone’s gonna get caught, it should be me.”

“No. No way. I came too. It’s fine.”

“Get the fuck outta here, Scott,” Stiles insisted. “My dad’ll go easy on me. You know that.”

Scott bit the inside of cheek, knowing that Stiles was right, but not wanting to leave him alone to deal with it anymore than he did a minute ago. It didn’t seem fair. But he  _ did _ need to get home to his emergency inhaler, and running there wasn’t an option. 

It was now or never. 

“Okay,” he said, giving in finally. “Text me when you get home, all right?”

Stiles rolled his eyes again and smirked. “Yes, Mom. Go. Seriously. Now.”

He started to push Scott before he could really respond as the deputy closest to them started to jog down the hill. But instead of trying to make his way up, Scott decided running parallel was a better idea. He didn’t have Stiles to help him back, and going that way would only lead to someone else finding him. 

“Hey!” Stiles yelled when Scott was far enough away. “Over here! I’m over here.”

He smiled to himself as he walked carefully through the forest, wondering what he could have possibly done to deserve a friend like Stiles. They had seen each other through so much since they had met, and no matter what happened, he knew Stiles would be there until the end too. 

Something about senior year had made Scott exceptionally sappy lately, he noticed, but he wasn’t sure it was without reason. The people they had grown up with had been constant as well. Their friend group had rarely changed, and with the exception of Jackson and Lydia, no one had really traveled outside of Beacon Hills all that much. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if that was all about to change too. 

On so many levels, there was no choice. Things weren’t going to be the same after tomorrow. The world was going to keep spinning, and while Stiles was definitely going to be grounded, they were all going to go off and do things outside of their comfortable little bubble. 

Scott knew he wasn’t ready. 

When he reached the edge of the sanctuary and the limits of the town, he pulled out his phone. He knew it was too soon for a message from Stiles, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to know that he was okay. 

A low, deep growl behind him, though, told him that Stiles wasn’t the one in trouble. 

He swallowed hard and turned his head. Another growl caused him to snap his head back until he was facing forward again. Whatever was behind him was going to get him before he could process what was happening anyway, so knowing what it was wouldn’t do him any good, he reasoned. 

“Shit,” he muttered. 

He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. If it was a wild animal, he wasn’t fast or strong enough to put up any sort of fight. And for the second time that night, he knew he was screwed. Though this one would probably prove more deadly than the last. 

He lurched forward without thinking when he felt the animal move behind him, but he was grabbed from behind before he could make it two steps. 

It took a few seconds, but Scott noticed that it was a pair of dirty  _ human _ hands that had a hold of him. They had a tight grip on his biceps. Not that it made sense. The growl and the rancid-smelling breath were animalistic in nature, for one. There was no way it could be anything different. No person alive could make a noise like that. It was coming from deep inside its chest. It was all too feral to even resemble a person. 

But Scott struggled against the hold anyway. He was all instinct now. Scott knew it didn’t make a difference and he should just stop. But he couldn’t make himself stop. 

And then the only thing else he could register was tearing flesh. His own flesh. 

He screamed louder and longer than he thought possible, arching his back to get away from the teeth tearing into his skin. Then, just like that, he found himself face down in the grass. His breath rustled the leaves nearest his face as he scrambled to his feet, his body back in the most intense version of fight or flight mode that he had ever experienced. 

Scott always chose flight. 

Tonight wouldn’t change that. 


	3. Chapter 3

As Scott stumbled through the front door, the edges of his vision had started to close in rapidly. And for the first time in his life, it wasn’t due to a lack of oxygen. The bite on his shoulder was throbbing so painfully it made everything pulse, including his sight. It was in time with his heartbeat and and it turned his stomach with each lurch it gave. And it was cloaked in a red haze, as if all the blood he was losing was invading every one of his senses. 

He had to stop every few steps, but almost ten minutes later he managed to find himself locked in his room, struggling to stay upright. He couldn’t form a coherent thought, though. Every part of his body was on fire. 

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and squinted at the screen, willing the letters there to make sense to his tired and shell-shocked brain. As he struggled to make his way to the bathroom, he sent a text he hoped would make sense to Stiles. He needed him right now. He needed him to do what he always did. Scott needed a distraction and he desperately wanted someone to explain that everything would be okay. It was just a bite. Not a death sentence. In the morning, it would all be fine again. 

But he was alone. 

Scott turned around when he made it to the mirror enough to look at his shoulder. The blood was already clotting around the wound, which he knew was good. But it didn’t make him feel better. It was too fresh for that. Too raw. Way too painful still. 

He tried, and failed, several times to get his newly shredded shirt over his head, but he couldn’t lift his arm high enough to complete the simple task. 

Scott leaned against the sink, letting both his hands grip the porcelain there until his knuckles were white. He was steeling up the courage to yank his shirt off, knowing that waking up with it plastered to his skin wouldn’t help matters. In fact, the infection would probably be so much worse. And he wasn’t going to be able to clean it up enough to be satisfied. 

But hopefully it would suffice. For now, at least. As long as he could make it to tomorrow, he could have Stiles help him. If he didn’t message back tonight. Which Scott prayed he would. 

When he made his way to his bed, he hissed loudly as he pulled the shirt over his head awkwardly, unable to forgo the pain like he intended. Even with how little time it had been, the blood had pooled and dried there. 

He picked up his phone one more time, willing there to be a message from Stiles, and growling loudly when he noticed it was as empty as it had been before. Scott knew, somewhere in his pain-riddled mind, that Stiles wasn’t actively choosing to ignore him. He was in trouble. It felt like so long ago, and as if no time had passed, since he had sent Scott away to face his dad alone. If anything, Stiles was probably getting his ass handed to him by his dad, Sheriff Noah Stilinski. Which meant his silence was justified. 

Just not at all convenient. 

Scott didn’t bother with turning off his lights, or checking his phone again, as he face planted onto his bed. He didn’t have any energy left. All of it had been zapped out of him from the bite that was still actively shredding through every fiber. It was taking over his body, he could feel it coursing through his veins. 

As he drifted off to sleep, the last conscious thought Scott McCall had was whether or not his mom might find him dead in the morning. But being able to do nothing to call for any more help. 

It was too late. 


	4. Chapter 4

Scott had never been one to remember his dreams, but last night they had been particularly vivid. But as the sunlight streamed through the halfway open window to his right, he couldn’t put them in any discernible order either. They were still just random scenes that he couldn’t pick out of his mind without having them dissolve into nothingness. 

He rolled to his back and threw an arm over his eyes in an effort to keep himself asleep as long as possible, but he knew it was useless. Today was day one of the rest of his life, no matter how clich é  Stiles would say that sounded, and he needed to get ready. 

With last night’s events, it was going to take him longer than usual, so staying in bed really wasn’t an option. 

He groaned loudly, threw his arm off his face, and sat up slowly. He wasn’t looking forward to what came next, but he couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t in as much pain as he assumed he would be by now. It was possible, though not entirely probable, that the adrenaline spike from last night was now catching up with him. 

But he didn’t think he was that lucky. 

He trudged toward the bathroom, stopping only to rub his eyes and look around for his phone. His eyebrows pulled in the middle when he found it in on his floor. He shuffled over and saw it was dead too. 

“Shit,” he whispered to himself. 

He had no idea what kind of message he had left for Stiles, but having his phone die shortly after, and Scott being in no shape to answer it, would have his best friend frantic by the time they saw each other again. As blas é as Stiles pretended to be, he knew he cared and worried way more than he should. 

Anxiety had always been Stiles Stilinski’s closest ally. Or worst enemy, depending on who you asked. 

Scott plugged in his phone and put it on his desk as he walked into the bathroom. Now that his head wasn’t as foggy, he knew he needed to actually clean himself off and bandage the disgusting––and possibly festering––bite before he got dressed. His mom was a nurse, for one thing, so he knew how to take care of himself. And he didn’t need people looking at her sideways because her son couldn’t dress a simple wound. 

He wouldn’t embarrass her like that. If he could help it, anyway. He was a teenage boy, so he regularly did it by accident. But he didn’t need to help the rumor mill along either. 

They had already been alone for longer than any of the old ladies in town felt was appropriate. Apparently being a single parent, even now, wasn’t okay. But Scott preferred it this way. He didn’t remember a lot about his dad anymore, but what he could wasn’t great. He knew they were better off. 

His mom certainly was. 

He knew she still got lonely, though. Sometimes she’d get a far off look in her eye during the more important milestones in his life, but overall she hid it well. And he loved her fiercely for it. 

When Scott made it to the mirror, much like he’d done the night before, he gripped the sink, trying to force himself to look at the bite. Thankfully, his stomach had seemed to settle, so that wasn’t something he had to contend with anymore. It was going to be pretty gnarly without adding vomit to the mix. 

The sink groaned loudly, like it was being pulled out of the wall, as he pushed away from it and turned slowly to face the music. But when he found the spot where he thought it had been, nothing was there. Not a scar. Not a trace of blood. Just nothing. Like it had never happened. 

Scott’s eyebrows furrowed again as he looked in the mirror, trying to determine if he had dreamed the whole thing. 

It was possible, he guessed, but he had been so certain it had been real. It certainly felt very real the night before, but maybe he had been more exhausted than he thought. Maybe he and Stiles hadn’t gone out at all. Maybe they had fallen asleep in his room like they had done almost every night that summer after Stiles had spent the evening fiddling with the police scanner. 

He switched on the shower and hurried through his routine, not wanting to be bogged down by this idea and end up late. Coach Finstock was his first teacher of the day, and that certainly wouldn’t help his chances in tryouts later. 

When he wrapped the towel around his middle, and stalked back into his bedroom, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Something was definitely off. His room smelled  _ horrible _ . Normally, he was used to it. Until, of course, his mom came in and pointed it out. But right now, he couldn’t ignore it. And it was getting worse. 

He wrenched up his phone from the desk where it was charging, wanting to ask Stiles if he had imagined the whole thing after all, and ended up accidentally ripping the whole cord out of the wall. He stared at the frayed end for a second, confused by the level of strength that would require and what he had just exerted. 

Yeah, something was definitely wrong. 

Scott shook his head, trying to get back on task, and saw Stiles had left a message last night after all. 

_ My dad caught me. But it’s okay. He’s taking away my phone for now. See ya tomorrow. No thanking me, okay? _

He grumbled to himself again, irritated that his one lifeline wouldn’t be available until they  _ both _ got to school. And if Stiles was as grounded as all that, he probably wouldn’t be allowed his Jeep either. 

He needed to hurry. 

Scott fell to his knees to find something, anything, to wear that would get him out of the door faster, trying desperately to ignore all the scents in his room that were assaulting him. He picked up one shirt after another, forcing himself not to gag as he did the smell check. 

Nothing was passing. Half of it was clean. He just hadn’t folded it. He would definitely need to clean up this place as soon as he got home today and do some laundry. But today he just prayed he could make it through the day without someone commenting on the stench. 

As he pulled a black v-neck over his head, he noticed something balled up on his floor. He sniffed the air around it automatically and took stock of the subtle cooper notes hanging around it. When he unfurled it, though, was when his hands really started to shake. 

It hadn’t been a dream. This shirt proved it. This torn, very dirty, and definitely bloody shirt told him that it had all happened and something wasn’t just wrong. 

It was unexplainable. 

* * *

Scott stood outside Beacon Hills High not even twenty minutes later, tapping his foot rapidly as he waited for Stiles to appear. He had sat down and gotten back up a dozen times, peering around people as they walked inside. 

He had never been this impatient before, but there was clearly a first time for everything. 

_ Including surviving a horrible bite and having it disappear completely _ . 

He shook his head to rid himself of that thought, knowing it was getting him nowhere. He had been over and over the options, and nothing made any logical sense. But if anyone could help, it would be Stiles. 

If only he would show his face. 

Scott sighed heavily when he finally saw the police car Stiles’ dad always drove when his son was in trouble and watched as it parked in front of the school. He saw Stiles get out and turn to talk to his dad, and Scott had to keep himself from pulling all his hair out by the roots. 

“It’s not fair to take my car  _ and _ my phone, Dad,” Stiles argued. 

Scott’s eyes went wide as he realized he could hear Stiles’ conversation as clearly as if he was standing there with him. But he definitely was  _ not _ . And he was way too far for anybody to hear them. Especially with his back turned. 

“I need those things. For, ya know, living my life,” Stiles continued. 

Sheriff Stilinski sighed heavily, and though Scott couldn’t see his face, he could imagine it. And the tone in his voice helped. 

“You’re not gonna have much of a life if you're convinced you need to go after murderers,” he declared. “Besides, after last night, be glad that’s all I did. And you’re grounded. For, like, the rest of your life. Sound good?”

Stiles hung his head. “Dad, nothing happened. I fell down a hill. Big deal,” he scoffed. “It’s not like I tripped over the other half of your dead body or something. Besides,” he insisted, “you said animal, not murderer. So…”

“Are you about to say something stupid about not being in danger last night?” Sheriff Stilinski interrupted. “Because a wild animal is just as capable of killing you as a murderer. You know that, right?” He paused and then his voice got more tender, quieter. “Do you think I wanna get the call that  _ you _ were the ripped in half body in the middle of the woods?”

Stiles’ arms fell to his sides limply from where they had been on his hips. All the anger seemed to flow out of him at once, leaving him looking like a deflated balloon. 

“Sorry, Dad,” Stiles mumbled. “Won’t do it again, okay?”

And Scott knew exactly what both of them were reliving in that moment, though neither would ever address it head on. 

“All right,” Sheriff Stilinski relented. “We’ll talk about how long you’re  _ actually _ grounded for at home. I’ll pick you up after practice.” He paused again, probably waiting for Stiles to agree. “Maybe I’ll even let you have the Jeep and the phone back tomorrow if there are no other… shenanigans between now and then.” 

Scott found himself scoffing at that one. He knew Stiles. There was no way he could commit to something like that. And even if he had every good intention in the world right now, it wasn’t going to last when Scott presented him with his impossible problem in a few minutes. 

“Can you do that, Stiles?” Sheriff Stilinski asked. “Can you behave for an entire day? A whole 24 hours?”

Stiles threw his hands up in the air, clearly exasperated and unbelieving in the probability of such an occurrence. 

“I mean, it’s me,” he explained. “Probably not, Dad. But I’ll try. I gotta go.”

Stiles finally turned and began to walk toward Scott as the first bell rang. Just like the night before, Scott clamped his hands down over his ears at the noise, but he wasn’t close enough for it to bother him. 

Or so he thought. 

“Jesus Christ,” he complained. 

When Stiles got close enough, he looked at him curiously and Scott removed his hands slowly. 

“Dude, what’s up? Why are you covering your ears?” Stiles asked, confusion still written all over his face. 

“I guess you got in pretty big trouble with your dad, huh?” he questioned, already knowing the answer. “Phone and car this time.”

Stiles turned and glanced behind him, taking in the distance from where he was standing to the curb where his dad was pulling away. 

“How’d you know that?” he asked quietly. “Could you…”

He shook his head, probably coming up with a much more logical explanation. Like the fact that he had showed up in the cop car and he had sent a message about the phone last night. 

“You psychic or something?” Stiles teased. 

“Or something,” Scott replied with a murmur. 

“Huh?”

Scott just shook his head and grabbed Stiles by the arm and dragged him the few feet to the empty lacrosse field. This place, even though it was out in the open, was the only place Scott felt safe enough to unload on Stiles. No one would hear them out here. Thankfully, Stiles followed without complaint, not that Scott was giving him much choice. 

When he finally released him, they were by the bench. “Dude, what is going on?” Stiles implored, adjusting his shirt. “We’re gonna be late.”

Scott looked back to the school and then around the field to make sure they were really alone. 

“And what happened to your grand plans, huh? New year, new you, right? Being late to Coach’s class isn’t gonna accomplish that. Plus, I’m pretty sure this counts as me misbehaving. And if I ever want my car or phone back…”

Stiles let his words filter off as he seemed to take in Scott’s demeanor. 

“Dude, are you gonna tell me what’s going on? Did you hit your head when you fell down that hill last night?”

Scott shook his head in way of an answer before actually saying the words. “No. No, I didn’t hit my head.” He paused, not sure how to phrase the next part. “I got bitten, Stiles. On my way out of the woods,” he blurted out. “Something bit me on the shoulder. Something… big.”

He pulled his shirt down to show Stiles where it had been. Stiles, in turn, squinted at the skin there and then looked back to Scott before giving him a shrug. 

“Dude, there is literally nothing there.”

Scott let his shirt fall back into place easily. “Exactly. Last night it was all gross and bloody. I have the torn up shirt to prove it. I brought it with me.”

He dropped his backpack off his other shoulder and bent down to riffle through his bag. A few seconds later, he shoved it toward Stiles’ chest and let him take a look at it himself. 

“Yeah, I mean, you definitely got bit by something,” Stiles answered, handing him back the shirt. “But it wouldn’t have healed that fast.”

“You think that’s weird? Watch this.”

Scott had no idea how he knew he could do it, but he walked right over to the bleachers and lifted them up without even hardly flexing. Stiles’ eyes got wider, but he didn’t seem all that impressed. 

“I almost ripped my sink out of the wall too. And these,” he said, lifting up his shirt and showing off his newly defined ab muscles. “I mean…” 

Stiles blinked rapidly at his stomach and swallowed hard. “Do, uh, those look different than usual?”

Scott couldn’t help the exasperated tone that coated his words next. “Yes. I am way ripped, dude.”

“Well, pardon me for not knowing what your abs looked like yesterday, Scott. It’s not like I spend my time staring at them. You’re not really my type. Enemies-to-lovers is more my trope, ya know?”

Scott couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “And I could totally hear you talking to your dad at the car,” he continued. “Even though you and I both know you were too far away. And I missed the bus.”

“I’m pretty sure getting bitten by something did not make you late for the bus, Scott,” Stiles said, smirking. 

“No, but when I started to jog after it, I didn’t even realize how fast I was going and ended up here  _ before _ you. Remember? That shouldn’t be possible, Stiles. Especially since my inhaler is still missing.”

“You got your emergency one, right?” Stiles questioned. “I mean, we can find the other one later today. My dad has the crime scene roped off and stuff, so we can go out there and look for it. Retrace our steps.” 

Scott took a deep breath, trying not to let his anger get to him. Stiles wasn’t usually the one to pick apart his arguments. He was the one hyping him up. And right now it was the opposite. 

“What?” Stiles asked. “Are you saying you’re Spider-Man or something? What do you want me to say, dude?”

Stiles began to laugh nervously when Scott shrugged, even though that’s not at all what he was saying. He just expected Stiles to have an explanation that didn’t revolve around Scott being crazy. He wanted one rooted in logic and science and Stiles was failing him. 

“I don’t know,” Scott finally said, “but something is going on. Something really fucking weird.”

“Yes,” Stiles huffed. “I heard you the first 45 times.” Stiles put his hands on his hips and then took another breath. “Did you see what bit you, at least?”

Scott shook his head, happy he seemed to be willing to at least discuss it. “It was behind me. But I was standing up when it bit me in the shoulder, so it had to be something on its hind legs, right?”

“Bears can stand on their hind legs,” he offered. “I mean, a lot of animals can. I’m pretty sure. But they don’t usually. Not like bears, anyway.”

The second bell rang and they both looked toward the school. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, they did have to leave. They couldn't stay out here discussing all his insane non-theories right now. 

“Listen, we’ll figure this out later, okay?” Stiles proposed. “I promise, dude. But we gotta go.”

“Yeah, okay,” Scott agreed. “But what do I  _ do _ , Stiles? What’s… happening to me?”

As they walked toward the nearest set of double doors, Stiles threw an arm over his shoulders. “Look. Clearly whatever bit you isn’t something bad because your bite is healed. Your asthma’s gone. You're super strong and fast. These are hardly things to complain about, right? Just, ya know, don’t lift up a bus or anything crazy before we figure it out and you’ll be okay.”

He couldn’t help as a smile started to spread on his face, despite the situation. “Yes, thank you, Stiles. Fantastic advice. Really.” He glanced once toward the school and then back at Stiles. “I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“That’s the spirit, Scott. See?” Stiles said, poking him in the side playfully. “New year, new you. Off to a great start.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Scott returned, mumbling under his breath. “What’s the worst that could happen?”


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles tried desperately not to focus on the fact that his best friend had clearly lost his whole mind as they ran to get to class on time. For one thing, the summer had been quiet until last night and that had been enough drama to last them a lifetime. Second, he was determined to get his Jeep back before tomorrow, and Scott pulling him into whatever this was would be bad on all fronts. 

He gave a little nod to Coach Finstock as they screeched into class just as the final bell rang out. He was out of breath, but Scott was cool as a cucumber behind him. Only irritating him further. They had both run here, meaning Scott was right. At least about this. He didn’t seem to need an inhaler anymore. 

But that didn’t mean he was right about  _ all _ of it. He had to be exaggerating some of it. 

Surely. 

Hopefully. 

“How lovely of you two to join us,” Coach Finstock said as they took two of the only three empty seats left. “I was hoping for a better start to the year since you’re on the team, but I’ll take what I can get.” Coach shook his head once. “But if you can’t keep your grades up…”

He let the sentiment hang in the air like they had no idea where he was going with it, but they knew. They  _ all _ knew. Good grades, or at least adequate ones, were mandatory if they hoped to stay on the team. And being on the team at all was better than being put on academic probation. 

Actually, anything was better than that.

Stiles made sure to nod again, showing his acknowledgment of the requirement as he bent over to grab the things he’d need for class. Of course, as was his luck, when he did so, the entire contents of his backpack spilled out onto the floor in glorious fashion. 

“Shi… crap,” he corrected quickly. 

He didn’t waste time looking up to Coach to see his reaction because he already knew what it would be. Irritation, probably a little exasperation, and unabashed annoyance at Stiles’ existence. That’s how it usually was anyway. With most people. 

Stiles was someone you tolerated in small doses. Unless you were Scott. In which case you had an absurd and possibly inhuman amount of patience. 

“For the love of all that is holy, Stilinski,” Coach said, settling into a rant, “can we start one class period, just one, without you causing some kind of cosmic chaos that will inevitably reverberate through the rest of my day like someone banged a gong and it’s still rattling my teeth three hours later?”

Stiles couldn’t help cracking a smile as the class laughed lightly at his expense. Even though he knew how much he was to take on a good day, with Coach it was an endearing thing for him to pick on you like that. If he didn’t care, he never said a word. And being ignored by Coach wasn’t where you wanted to be. As mean as he sounded, Stiles knew never to take it personal. 

And he  _ was _ kinda funny. 

As he shoveled everything haphazardly back in his backpack, he noticed Scott’s hand was hovering in his peripheral vision, but he never bothered to actually help. Which he found odd. 

When Stiles made it back to his seat, he looked over and noticed Scott was staring off into space. Or so he thought, anyway. 

He followed Scott’s line of sight and noticed a black SUV at the front of the school with a girl who had to be around their age getting out of it. A new girl. A girl they hadn’t grown up around and hadn’t yet rejected Stiles forty million times. Like Lydia. 

_ Let her be hot _ .  _ Let her be hot _ .  _ Let her be hot _ , he chanted internally. 

The window was cracked slightly and Stiles could hear that they were talking, but couldn’t understand a word of it. Especially with Coach now calling roll. But Scott seemed glued to the scene. Almost like he could hear the entire thing. 

Stiles turned back to the window and worked on tuning out Coach, resolving to ask Scott as soon as class was over if he had heard anything that time too. 

As much as he didn’t want to believe, because that led them both down a strange and dangerous path, he wanted to know where the limits were and how to test them. He wanted answers just as much as Scott, because it certainly didn’t add up. But Stiles wasn’t sure what the answer was either, or how much of it Scott might listen to. He had a bad tendency of ignoring Stiles’ advice until he literally couldn’t anymore. 

Granted, most of his plans weren’t the best, but Stiles was right more often than he was wrong. And he knew that had to count for something. At least with him there Scott was likely to make  _ some _ sort of decision, even if it was the wrong one. Because without Stiles, Scott was lost. And they both knew it. 

Stiles wasn’t sure whether to be upset or impressed as the new girl waltzed into class a minute later and he realized his thoughts had run off on their own again. The spaces between his normal, cohesive thoughts were getting longer, but they seemed to be veering back into something resembling a narrative. His tangents had started making sense again. He could connect the dots between his spaz-tastic process more and more. 

Maybe his medication was working. 

“Who are you?” Coach Finstock blurted out as she hovered in the doorway. 

“Uh, Allison. Allison Argent. Just moved,” she explained. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Coach responded, waving his hand dismissively. “I don’t need your life story. I won’t count you late today, but we start on time in here.” Allison nodded. “Take a seat,” he instructed. 

Stiles watched as she picked the only one left. The one right behind Scott, and without thinking Scott reached into his backpack and took out a pen. He handed it to her and Stiles noticed the way her eyebrows momentarily adjusted to her confusion before she righted herself, wiping all emotion off her face.

“Thanks,” she whispered. 

He  _ had _ heard her. Scott knew she didn’t have anything to write with, and he was shooting his shot. But the look of contentment on Scott’s face was different, and Stiles wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. 

He didn’t want Scott to get hurt. 

He tore off a piece of the paper at the top of the stack he was going to use for notes and scribbled a message to Scott before shoving it across the aisle at him. 

Scott smirked as he shook his head and then dropped it in his own backpack when he read it. He didn’t believe Stiles, he could tell, but it was true. This girl was so far out of his league that Scott wasn’t even allowed in the stadium. 

And it wasn’t that Stiles thought he deserved her instead, because  _ he _ wasn’t even playing the same sport, but this Allison character would chew Scott up and spit him out. And Stiles wouldn’t be able to handle watching that. 

Since Coach skipped right over the syllabus and went straight to the lesson, Stiles was forced to actually pay attention. He diligently took notes, knowing that Scott was too focused on other things to be worried about future studying right now. And, thankfully, class flew by. 

But as he stood up and rushed to the door, ready for their next class, Stiles noticed he was alone. He looked around for a second and then saw Scott was still in his seat, taking his sweet ass time getting up. 

“Fuck,” Stiles muttered. 

Scott, his wonderfully naive idiot, was going to try to talk to this girl. Stiles could tell. And Stiles could also tell Scott’s grand plan for senior year was about to be derailed. 

First, he’d get rejected by Allison. Then he’d end up on third line with Stiles. And eventually they’d make it home and Scott would realize he had no idea what he was supposed to work on for school and the whole thing would come crashing down. 

He shook his head and started toward Scott, determined to save him from himself, when he saw a twitch in his hand and noticed he was waving him off. Stiles rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop. Then the twitch got more pronounced. Scott was definitely waving him off. 

Stiles faltered a bit before turning on his heel and heading back for the door. 

Well, at least if Scott was going to embarrass himself, Stiles was going to have a front row seat. No doubt Scott would want a play-by-play later anyway. 

So Stiles leaned against the wall right outside the classroom and watched as everyone else filtered out. He pulled out a book and flipped to a random chapter, not wanting to look as creepy and stalker-y as he felt right now. 

He didn’t need anyone calling his dad on him. He’d  _ never _ get his stuff back. 

“You’re Allison, right?” Stiles heard Scott say inside the room. “I’m Scott. Scott McCall.”

_ Bond. James Bond _ . Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott’s horrible game. 

“Hi, Scott McCall,” Allison answered, giggling lightly. “I believe this is yours. Thanks, uh, for letting me use it.”

“Keep it,” Scott insisted. “You’re probably gonna need it the rest of the day.”

She laughed again. “Probably… thanks.” 

Stiles heard their voices getting louder and louder as they got closer to him, and all he could do was pray he blended into the background well enough to follow them and listen to the conversation. 

When they appeared, Scott had his hands in his pockets and Allison had her books clutched to her chest. Both their cheeks were tinged slightly red, like they might be embarrassed to be talking to one another. And on any other couple, it would be adorable, but Stiles had a bad feeling. 

“It’s funny,” Allison said after a quiet moment of walking together. “I realized a pen was the  _ one _ thing I forgot today as I was coming in. It’s like you knew.”

Stiles couldn’t help but perk up at that mention of that. He stashed it away in his mental notes for later when he was researching, like he promised he would do for Scott. Not that he probably cared about that right now. 

“You had a look,” Scott commented. 

“Smooth,” Allison teased. “Very smooth.”

Once again, Stiles rolled his eyes. Not smooth. Scott McCall didn’t even know the meaning of that word. His best friend was a lot of things, but smooth had never been one of them. 

“Smoother than expected?” 

“Perhaps,” Allison admitted slyly. 

Well, maybe Scott had been given superpowers after all. A conversation like this would’ve normally sent him running for the hills. And here he was, just chatting this girl up like it was no big deal. 

“Damn,” Allison muttered, “did I kill the smoothness?”

Scott ran a hand through his hair, getting nervous. Stiles could tell. And oddly it made him feel better to see remnants of the Scott he knew in there. Even if he was mixed with whatever was happening now. 

“Nah, I think that’s all I had in me, honestly.”

Allison laughed louder and Stiles couldn’t help but smirk.

_ Okay, that was a good one _ . 

“Well, lucky for you, it’s kind of endearing,” Allison offered. 

Scott’s cheeks got redder at the compliment about the time that Stiles realized he had completely skipped his locker and forgotten his books for his next class. God, he was in so much trouble. He couldn’t forget everything else in favor of a girlfriend, even if that was on his list. 

“So, uh, what’s fun around here?” Allison asked. 

“In Beacon Hills? Not much,” Scott answered truthfully. “We’ve got, uh, bowling. I guess. And most people come to watch the school’s lacrosse team, but that’s about it.”

“Lacrosse?” Allison inquired. “I think I’ve heard of it. But I  _ know _ I’ve never seen it in action before.” She paused and looked him up and down. “Are you on the team?”

“Yeah, uh, they’re assigning positions today, actually,” Scott stammered. “People are allowed to watch. You could come, if you want.”   


“That sounds… fun,” Allison relented. “Are you the best on the team, Scott McCall?”

Scott laughed heartily at that one, and Stiles had to stop himself from joining in. Even with this newfound confidence, he would never get over his lacrosse inadequacies. 

“Definitely not,” Scott assented. “That would be our captain, Jackson Whittemore. I'm sure he’ll be in one of your classes today. He’s a senior too.” 

Stiles could see the wheels in his head turning at the thought of Jackson and Allison in a class together. He knew that feeling well. It was the same one he got with Lydia and Jackson. Stiles hated it, but that had more to do with his underlying––and apparently undying––love for one Lydia Martin. 

He was hopeless, though. Apparently Scott had a shot here after all. 

“But I think all he does is practice,” Scott continued. “I’m pretty sure he plays in his sleep. I’m just hoping to make first line this year.”

“First line?”

“It’s the people who get to really play, I guess is the easiest way to describe it. If you’re lower than that, you usually sit on the bench mostly. Unless someone gets hurt.”

_ Like me and you, Scott _ . 

Allison nodded along, though Stiles was sure she didn’t care. “Well, I hope you make it. And I’ll definitely be there to cheer you on today.”

Stiles had never been happier to not be in a conversation before, because with the way he felt his eyes widen, he knew it would’ve hurt Scott’s chances with this girl. 

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” Allison said, nodding again, 

“Great. Cool. Umm,” he stopped suddenly, causing Stiles to almost run into his back. “This is, uh, me.”

When Allison paused a little further up, Stiles tried to make himself scarce. Most of the other students had found their way to their classrooms, but he didn’t want to miss anything. Not that either of these two idiots could see him right now. 

“I think I’m further down,” Allison said, pulling out a schedule. “Is that right?”

She walked back and unfolded a piece of paper and stuck it under his nose. Then they both leaned in together, their faces almost touching. 

“Yeah, uh. Just down, um, there.”

Scott swallowed hard and Stiles almost snorted his laughter. These two couldn’t be more stereotypical if they tried. This scene definitely belonged in a romantic comedy somewhere, but all it made Stiles want to do was dry heave. In fact, it was a wonder he was managing to keep it to himself right now. 

Allison bit her lip to complete the full effect of the scene. “Thanks. I’ll see you later, then?”

“Yeah, uh, if you want, you can sit with me and my friend Stiles at lunch. Sometimes Jackson and a few other people join us.”

“Sounds good,” Allison beamed. 

She turned to walk away and Scott blew out a breath. He looked more conflicted than made sense to Stiles as he rejoined him and threw an arm around his shoulder. 

“We have a scrimmage on Friday,” Stiles whispered in Scott’s ear as they both watched her walk away. 

“Allison!” Scott hollered up the hall, jogging to get to her and brushing Stiles off. “We have our first scrimmage on Friday. It’s just half the team against the other half. But would you, uh, wanna go out afterward?”

Stiles had to pick up his jaw off the floor as he heard the words leave Scott’s mouth. No way did this guy just ask a girl on a date. No  _ fucking _ way. 

That’s it. It was official. Someone had abducted Scott. 

“To celebrate your victory?” Allison guessed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Hopefully,” he said, laughing. “Or you can cheer me up, if I lose.”

“Ah, see. You didn’t run out of smoothness, Scott McCall,” Allison remarked. “I’d love to go out with you.”

And just like that, Stiles wanted to dry heave again. He shook his head and ducked into the classroom ahead of Scott. Whatever he was going to miss now wasn’t going to matter. Probably just some disgusting displays of mutual pining or something. 

Either way, they needed to discuss as soon as possible. Scott was in over his head. Scott was in trouble. Scott was… different. And Stiles had no idea if it was a good or bad thing anymore. But he intended to find out as soon as possible. 


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles rolled his eyes to himself from behind the safety of his locker as he listened to Scott drone on and on about Allison. Honestly, he had no idea how he had kept it up this long, with minimal input from Stiles, for over two hours. Or how he expected Stiles to sit there and take much more. 

“Can you believe she said yes?” Scott asked, the giddy optimism still set in his tone. “She’s so pretty.”

That was it. He couldn’t take anymore. He slammed his locker shut a little harder than he intended, his frustration leaking through accidentally. 

“Oh. My. God. Dude. Dude. Shut up,” Stiles blurted out. “I get it. Okay? I do. But I cannot handle another second of this.” He paused when he noticed Scott’s expression change slightly. “I’m happy for you,” Stiles insisted, lowering his voice. “I am. Allison Argent is the most perfect human on the entire planet, crafted by the angels, plucked out of the heavens, and placed in Beacon Hills for you. Awesome.” Stiles paused again, placing a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “But don’t you think you’ve got some bigger problems than your date on Friday?”

Scott turned slightly and shut his own locker before facing Stiles again, a giddy, stupid smile still on his face. 

“What problems?”

Stiles blinked rapidly in surprise and his mouth fell open before he shut it again with an audible snap. “Wha… what problems?” 

“Umm, did you have a stroke since this morning?” he scoffed, lowering his voice and getting close enough for Scott to hear him without the possibility of someone eavesdropping. “Your  _ bite _ ? Being insanely strong. Your… abs or whatever? How exactly were you planning on handling all that during tryouts?”

Scott shrugged, causing Stiles’ hand to slide off. “I’m going to try out. Just like last year.”

“Except last year, you were a scrawny nerd with asthma,” Stiles pointed out bluntly. “Now you’re… I don’t know, Clark Kent or something.” He motioned to Scott’s whole body. “Don’t you think everyone’s gonna notice when you, uh, run across the field in two seconds and accidentally put your fist through a tree?”

Scott smirked. “Wow, tryouts have changed if  _ that’s _ a requirement.” 

Stiles scrunched his nose and pursed his lips. Scott was too distracted to have this conversation for real, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t necessary. Completely necessary. 

“Stiles, calm down. It’s a regular tryout, okay? I’m gonna throw a few balls at the net, make first line, and it’ll be done. Same plan as yesterday.”

“Oh, sure,” Stiles mumbled. “Only yesterday you didn’t have  _ superpowers _ .”

Scott laughed lightly and shook his head as he clapped him on the back. “It’ll be fine,” he insisted. “Come on.”

Stiles knew it was a lost cause. He grabbed his gear and stalked out of the locker room, not needing to even turn around to know Scott was still shaking his head at Stiles and his mostly sarcastic rant. Not that there was another kind with him. 

But this was important. He had to get through to his best friend before Beacon Hills resembled something more like  _ E.T. _ , government swarming every inch of this place to run experiments on Scott or something. 

Stiles tried to steady himself, put on a more serious face, but his lopsided grin always made it seem like he was up to something. Not exactly his fault, but not at all what he was going for right now. 

He adjusted the stick across his shoulders as Scott caught up with him. 

“I’m just saying,” he started in again instantly, “I don’t think this is going to be as easy as you think, man.”

He waited for Scott to protest again, but he seemed to be actively listening this time. 

“You have no practice at all controlling whatever this is,” he pointed out. “Every monster, every superhero, every X-Man ever, has an adjustment period. You’re just starting yours.”

Scott stopped and turned to him, a very prominent frown etched on his face. “You think I’m a monster?”

“What? No. Not at all,” Stiles said, motioning for him to keep walking. “I just don’t want you to get all cocky before you figure out what’s going on.”

“Stiles, I get it, but you need to stop freaking out,” Scott replies. “You said before that whatever happened to me can’t be bad. Right? You can’t have it both ways, dude.” He perked his eyebrows at Stiles, daring him to say more before he continued. “Either it’s horrible and terrible and I should go home and hide, or it’s no big deal and I can live my life.” He looked up at the stands next, wiggling his fingers in a wave. “With a few… added perks.”

Stiles followed his eyeline until he saw Allison waving back at Scott. He sneered without meaning to, knowing it wasn’t either of their fault. 

“I’m gonna live my life, okay?” 

Stiles huffed dramatically before he could stop himself. “But how do you know, Scott? How do you know everything’s gonna be okay?” 

“I told you what I wanted yesterday, Stiles,” Scott explained, sighing heavily. “And if whatever happened to me is gonna help me get it, I’m gonna use it. I don’t know how long it’s gonna last. Just let me have this moment. Please.”

Stiles looked into Scott’s eyes and his resolve melted away. For the first time, he saw confidence reflected in his best friend’s face, and he didn’t have the heart to be the one to cast it out of him. It wasn’t fair that this passionate person was doomed to a life they were never going to have just because he’d been genetically screwed over. And for whatever reason, in this moment, he wasn’t that kid. 

“It’s not like I can stop you,” Stiles finally admitted, muttering to himself. “You could just throw me across this field.” 

“But I won’t,” Scott teased. “Because you’re my friend.”

“Gee, thanks, Scott.” He looked out at the field they were slowly making their way across at the bench where everyone was lining up. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He knew that he had no chance of changing his position on the field, but he was okay with that. He’d only ever joined in the first place because this is what Scott wanted to do. He knew he could’ve chosen literally anything else and it would’ve been less intense, but this had been the thing he was crazy about. And Stiles had followed him in without thinking. 

But it was a two-way street with them, thankfully. 

As they sat down on the bench finally and began to tie their cleats, putting on shin guards and listening to the dull roar of all the side conversations going on around them, Stiles noticed Scott was trying to discreetly look up at the stands again. 

He may have gotten more confident overnight, but despite Allison’s words in the hallway earlier, he was not smooth. 

And Lydia Martin had noticed. 

“Well, now you’re fucked,” Stiles commented. 

“What? Why?”

Stiles motioned with his head toward Lydia and Allison, who were whispering back and forth to each other behind their hands. 

“Lydia seems a little skeptical of Allison’s new crush, man.”

“So?” Scott shrugged. 

“Uh, so you’re doomed. Lydia’s the gatekeeper,” he said. “The arbiter of taste in all Beacon Hills High relationships. If she says you’re a no go, you’re a no go.”

With that, Stiles turned to face the field, his stick between his leg and a bored expression on his face. That’s all he could muster now. School had been longer and Scott’s new obsession with Allison was aging him quickly. 

Scott tore his eyes away slowly from Allison and Lydia with a shrug. “Lydia doesn’t have anything against me. And Allison’s not gonna listen to her even if she did.”

Stiles scoffed. “Right. I forgot. Allison is perfect and would  _ never _ cave to peer pressure.” He paused and looked to Scott again. “And no, Lydia has nothing against you. She’s the sweetest person in the world. But Allison is  _ way _ outta your league and she’s new here. Like I already told you,” he added. “Dating a lacrosse loser isn’t going to be good for her social status.”

“And  _ I _ told  _ you  _ that I’m not gonna be a loser after these tryouts.”

Coach Finstock took that precise moment to blow his whistle as hard as he could, causing everyone to wince and look toward him as he started to pace. 

“All right, losers!” he shouted. “That’s right. I called you losers. Because besides Jackson, none of you has an ounce of talent that is useful to me.” He stopped at the end of the bench and started back again, in true coach fashion. Stiles had always seen him as the stereotypical coach from a bad after school special, and he never disappointed. “Unfortunately, I need a whole team of you idiots if we’re gonna play in any games this year, so I’m forced to stand here and choose the best of the worst.” He stopped and stared down at Stiles. “What happens here today is not a compliment. Got it?” Stiles nodded, even though he knew he wasn’t talking to him directly. “Line up!” 

At those words, everyone scrambled to get off the bench and make a line behind Derek Hale, who seemed to have materialized out of the mist surrounding the field. It was still strange to see him in a position of authority like that, when it had only been a few years ago that he had been on the field with them. Granted, when Stiles and Scott had been freshmen, barely scraping by to get a spot on the team, Derek had been an all-star senior with a million prospects. But they were all right here again.

Just now Derek was the assistant coach walking up and down the line checking everyone in while Stiles pretended to give two shits about this sport. A sport he never got to play. 

“McCall!” Coach yelled. “Get on the goal!” 

Scott sprinted toward the net without a word and Stiles’ whole body tensed, not knowing what was going to happen next. And he watched as Derek’s nostrils flared as Scott passed him and his head shot up. Stiles’ eyebrows pulled in the middle as he tried to work out the small interaction. 

“If you can’t get it past McCall, you don’t deserve to be on the field,” Coach said quickly. 

Stiles was forced to tear his eyes from Derek and toward Scott again, unable to help himself as Coach picked on him. But he didn’t seem upset. If anything, he appeared calm and cool. Everything Scott McCall was usually  _ not _ . 

“Don’t flake on me now, Hale!” Coach screamed next. Stiles turned to see him still staring at Scott. “Get everyone signed in.”

Derek swallowed hard and nodded as he turned back to the line and continued with his job. But his brow was definitely furrowed, lost in his own thoughts. Not that it was all that different of an expression for Derek these days. He was always brooding about something. 

Coach blew his whistle again and pointed to Jackson at the front of the line. “Okay, everyone throws one shot. Jackson, demonstrate, please.”

Jackson didn’t even try to hide his enthusiasm at the task, and Stiles couldn't help but groan out loud as he readied himself for what came next. Jackson wasn’t a bad guy, necessarily, but he did seem to take some sick pleasure in picking on both Scott and Stiles when they were on the field. 

He picked up the ball in the small net at the end of the stick with ease and threw it as hard as he could toward Scott’s face. People were already cheering as soon as the ball left, but it died instantly when Scott caught it with ease. 

Stiles’ face lit up as Scott dropped it from his own stick and a few people in the stands gasped. He covered up his laugh with a cough when several people closest to him turned. But keeping the smile off his face was next to impossible. 

“Lucky get, McCall,” Jackson sneered. 

Scott shrugged in return. “Maybe. Wanna try again?”

Even though Stiles wasn’t looking at him, he knew what Jackson’s face looked like right now. He wasn’t used to not getting his way, especially on this field. And Scott McCall, his easiest punching bag, had just thrown him a curveball. 

“Again,” Jackson hissed. 

Scott threw the ball back to him and Jackson tried again. And Scott caught it again. With as much ease and poise as last time. Stiles noticed everyone was watching. Even Derek didn’t seem to care about checking people in anymore and was openly gawking at the pair, staring between them like he was watching a tennis match. 

“Again!” Jackson yelled. 

Then the back and forth began. Jackson threw the ball. Scott caught it. Again and again and again. And each time, the anger radiating off Jackson got worse. Then Scott started to laugh and Stiles shook his head. 

He was officially asking for it now. Jackson had never been one to take his aggression off the field, but Stiles had a feeling that was all about to end when they came across him in the parking lot later. Because Jackson Whittemore did not lose in lacrosse. Ever. 

“What the hell, McCall?” Jackson blurted out. 

Scott shrugged again as Jackson made his way to the back of the line, everyone gawking as their eyes followed him. Stiles knew Jackson probably just wanted to disappear, but that was going to be impossible with what they’d all just witnessed. 

Coach Finstock swallowed hard next and turned to the rest of them. “All right, all right. Stop staring. So there’s another person on the team who’s halfway decent besides Jackson. Big deal. It’s about damn time,” he mumbled. “I still have to figure out who else is gonna stand there and pretend to play next to these two.”

When no one moved, Coach threw up his hands. “Go! Go!” 

A few people stumbled toward Scott to take their turn, and for the first time since they had joined the team, they looked genuinely nervous to go up against him. 

One by one, each person tried to score against Scott, and each time he shut them down like it was nothing. Stiles was just thankful that Scott didn’t go easy on him. He felt pathetic enough as it was standing next to Scott now. That would’ve made it so much worse. 

When Jackson made it back to the front, Coach changed up the drills and Scott rejoined them. He didn’t say a word to Stiles for the rest of tryouts, but Scott was vibrating with so much energy he could feel it no matter where he was standing. 

Mercifully, tryouts finally did end and Stiles stood next to Scott on the bench where it had all started as the crowd around them buzzed with a renewed excitement Stiles hadn’t seen around their field in a long time. Like Derek Hale long time. He wanted to be jealous, but it was Scott. And he deserved it. 

“Yeah, you’re definitely making first line,” Stiles said wryly, breathing heavily. 

“You think?” Scott asked, a smile on his face, but uncertainty in his voice. “I mean…”

“Of course I think,” Stiles interrupted as he pulled off his helmet. “You were unstoppable. At least you didn’t do anything  _ too _ wild.” He watched Scott carefully as his smile became a little less cautious and a lot more enthusiastic. “I’ll try to figure out what’s going on tonight, okay?”

Scott nodded, looking over his shoulder instinctively as Allison called his name. “Good job, Scott! I'll see you tomorrow.”

He waved back at her and nodded, turning back to Stiles after a few more seconds of looking at her longingly like the idiot in love he was. “Wait… what were you saying?”

Stiles threw up his hands like Coach had done earlier, with the same level of exasperation and frustration too. “I was just trying to tell you I’m going to attempt to solve your  _ giant _ problem, asshole. Not that you care,” he quipped. “Perfect Allison loved what she saw.” 

He scoffed and picked up his bag and other equipment, throwing it over his shoulder as he started to walk away .”If you wake up with two heads tomorrow, I don’t wanna hear one complaint, got it? None!” 

Scott laughed heartily and jogged to catch up. “Thank you, Stiles. But I know I’ll be fine either way as long as you’re on my side.”

“Finally,” Stiles scoffed. “A little acknowledgment. Thank you.” 

Scott nodded and gave him a wink as they continued to walk, most people not paying them any attention again as they all headed for the locker rooms. 

“Look, dude,” Stiles continued, unprompted. “I really want you to be okay. All right? That’s all this is. I’m not trying to rain on your parade, I swear. It’s just… you went into the woods and I feel, like, responsible. Whatever happened, good or bad, is my fault.”

Scott was shaking his head vehemently before Stiles could even get the words out of his mouth. “No. No way. And I don’t think it’s that dire, Stiles. Honestly, I know I was angry last night, but it was just because I was frustrated and a little scared. But I  _ wanted _ to go with you. You know that.”

“Yeah?”

“Always,” Scott promised. 

“Okay,” Stiles sighed in relief. “Okay.”

Stiles put an arm around Scott’s shoulders and laid his head there, making him chuckle again as he nuzzled his face into the crook of Scott’s neck. He could feel someone’s eyes on them as they left, but right now Stiles was determined not to let his paranoia get to him. Scott said he was fine, and he was going to go with that until he found out some information that said otherwise. 

Sometimes good stuff happened too. Not usually to  _ them _ , but they were definitely due for some good. 


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles stared up at Scott’s window, mountains of papers and books in his hands as he listened to the ringing in his ear and waited for Scott to pick up. The light was still on in his room, so Stiles knew he was there. 

And either he was choosing not to answer, which would piss him off. Or he was asleep and hadn’t left his ringer on, which would piss him off. 

Either way, Stiles was standing outside getting progressively irritated because this was a fucking emergency and Scott was too busy pretending it was anything else. 

He huffed for good measure and then put his phone back in his pocket, trying to maneuver everything from one arm to the other and almost dropping everything in the process. Melissa, his mom, wasn’t home either, so the front door was probably locked. Which meant one thing: Stiles was going to have to climb. 

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to come up with any other possible option, but knew it was pointless. They’d done this before. Scott fell asleep and Stiles was forced to climb in through his window like some messed up version of  _ Romeo and Juliet _ that never ended in a kiss. 

He sighed and started up the lattice on the side of the house, somehow managing to keep everything from slipping through his grasp and falling all over the ground. When he made it to the roof outside Scott’s room, he threw the books and research he’d printed off first and then pulled himself up. 

But when he made it to the window, it was locked. He could see Scott on the other side of the clear glass, his gentle breath rustling the Econ book he was laying on. And as much as he was glad Scott was actually getting some sleep, now was not the time. Right now, they had a serious problem. One that no amount of sleep could fix. 

He started to tap on the window repeatedly until he could see Scott’s eyes move rapidly under his lids. 

“Scott,” he hissed. “Scott, get the hell up, dude!” 

Panicked, Scott sat straight up and looked around, almost falling out of his chair when he noticed Stiles crouched on the roof outside his room. He reached across his desk and flipped the locks to allow him in, lifting it open quickly. 

“What are you doing?” he yawned. 

“Dude, you have to start answering your phone, especially when we have an emergency situation,” Stiles complained. 

He shoved everything onto Scott’s desk ahead of him as he scrambled through the small opening. 

Scott yawned wide again. “Emergency situation?”

His eyes were still barely open as he stared at Stiles in confusion, but he didn’t have time to wake him up any gentler. They had a serious mess to deal with, if he was right. And he was sure he was now. 

Stiles stood in the middle of Scott’s room straightening out his shirt and then shuffling around different papers to find the one he was looking for. 

“You!” Stiles shouted without meaning to. “You, dude! You are the entire emergency situation right now. I spent my whole afternoon and evening, skipping dinner, I might add, trying to figure out what’s going on with you. And… And I think I know what it is.”

Scott sat down hard on his bed and looked up at Stiles. He ran a hand through his hair like he couldn’t decide if he was irritated with Stiles for waking him up or not. 

“And it couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, Stiles?” he answered patiently. 

Stiles put his hands on his hips. “Nope,” he said clearly. 

“Okay, man,” Scott conceded. “What is it?”

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy,” Stiles muttered and sighed.

“I already do,” Scott joked. 

Stiles looked back up, a smirk on his face, and laughed hoarsely. His own lack of sleep was catching up with him and showing in his voice. 

“This theory is extra crazy. Like overboard,” he reasoned. “Completely next level shit from my normal Stilinski crazy.”

Scott shrugged. “It was bound to happen. Just tell me.”

He went back to the desk and started to shuffle some of the papers shoved into the pages of the books and notebooks he had brought with him. “Well, remember last night when you said you heard a wolf?” 

Scott nodded. “Yeah, but you said it couldn’t have been because there hasn’t been any since, like, 1920 or something.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but didn’t turn back to Scott. “And you wonder why your grades suck,” he muttered. “I said it  _ probably _ wasn’t a wolf. Not a regular one, anyway. But you said you got bit on the shoulder while standing up, right?”

“Yeah,” Scott said in a bored voice. “So?”

“And now you’re super strong, super fast, and you can smell and hear really well…” His voice filtered off as he finally found the picture. “Any of this ringing a bell?”

“I mean, yes, I remember saying it, but am I supposed to know what it amounts to?”

Stiles looked back to him and laughed again. “I can’t believe you’re gonna make me say it out loud, dude.” He paused, waiting to see if Scott was really this dense. “Superpowers. Wolves. Smell. Hearing. No more asthma.” He stopped one more time before sighing loudly. “You really don't see where I’m going with this?”

Scott laughed and shook his head. “I really don’t, Stiles. Just spit it out.”

He took a deep breath and shoved the picture under Scott’s nose. “I think you’re a werewolf.”

Then Stiles waited. 

He knew Scott was going to laugh at him. Like  _ really _ laugh at him. He was going to call him crazy and tell him he’d officially lost it and maybe even have him committed. But it was the truth. Every bit of his research kept pointing back in this direction. Even when he didn’t want it to and even when he searched for something that would tell him something different. 

This was it. No matter how insane it sounded. He just knew it. 

“A what?” Scott whispered, looking up at Stiles with wide eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. If you have any questions or concerns regarding differences in canon and our fanon rewrite, please leave us a comment. We'll answer each one! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> You can also hang out with me on Tumblr and request things here: [the-galaxy-collector](https://www.the-galaxy-collector.tumblr.com)
> 
> Or at my _Teen Wolf_ Discord Server here: [ The Beacon Hills Preserve](https://discord.gg/xm24uP6)


End file.
